Real to Me
by Amishausmut
Summary: Ib spends almost all her time talking about her imaginary friend Garry, so what's a concerned older sister like Mary to do? Together, Forever Ending T for idfk, let's be cautious
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I feel like it's some unspoken rule here to tell everyone this is my first fan fic, so, voila. . . . . . . . . . ****Disclaimer****: you all obviously know this, but I do not own the rights to Ib, I merely just play it.**

….

Mary sat at the table and ate her breakfast. Now, if anyone knew Mary, they'd know that "eating" and "sitting" were two words too bland to describe such a girl. It was more like this: Mary was simply at the table politely seated, like any young lady should, preparing to eat her cereal. This was working out quite nicely for her until she had noticed that the tiny, whole-wheat, well-shaped cereals were, in fact, real wells the whole time! Upon further investigation, she found that there was a whole micro- organismic town down there, drowning in a sea of milk white water pollution! Mary hadn't taken much time to consider helping those poor, drowning, little people, for she had realized that her size difference would be of much help to them. She had started to delve her fingers into the milky abyss, but to no avail. She no longer saw the struggling heads of micro-people, and feared for the worst. Could they all have drowned already? _No, they couldn't of had_ decided Mary, as she franticly grasped the bowl and started slurping up the cold-blooded, killer lake. She had only gotten half-way through the bowl when her mother had demanded her to stop.

"Mary!" she hissed, "that is no way a _lady _should behave!" Mary's mother had made her way towards her, softly gripped her arms, and quietly went to showing her the errors of her ways. "It's not polite to slurp", her voice cooled as she goaded Mary into putting the bowl back on the table. Mary couldn't help but notice that her mother had a new color of nail polish on; still a shade of red, of course. Mary watched her mother's boney hands slither off her arm, causing her to holler for more food. Her mother's response, which was of little surprise to Mary, was another harsh scowl, a look of disappointment, and a "Would you like more cereal, then". Mary had glimpsed down at her half empty bowl; she would need to make a memorial for the victims later today. "Can I have toast instead?" She flashed a smile at her mother.

It was amongst all this commotion that no one had noticed Ib come in. Little Ib, who was no greater than nine, was always the quieter of the two sisters. As opposed to Mary's spontaneous blonde curls and deep blue eyes, Ib had always looked like her parents. She had dirt brown, pin straight hair like her father, and the fiery red eyes that her mother had. Paying little to no attention to the hullabaloo in front of her, Ib sat at the opposite end of the table. She had spent a few seconds fiddling with any and all nearby objects, until she worked up the nerve to ask her mother for breakfast. Conveniently, this was just after Mary had done the same, and her mother turned to her and asked: "Toast?"

Id nodded her head. Mary thawed out of her mocking smile, only just noticing her sister was in the room. "Good Morning, sleepyhead!" she chirped. Ib responded to her sister with a smile; she wasn't really one for words. Mary continued: "You know, you got up two hours after me, right? What's with that? You stuck in a dream or something Ib?"

Ib tried to find the words to answer. She knew what Mary would think if she told her the truth. She felt her throat go dry and her eyes tear. She knew her sister would be suspicious if she didn't answer soon, but she was upset, couldn't attempt to find an answer and didn't want to. Luckily, her mother swooped in with the toast.

"Well Mary, you always do say how you'd like to be treated like a grownup. Sometimes grownups have to get up earlier than the children, so stop hounding your poor sister." Mother's voice was almost as chirpy as Mary's. Mary understood her defeat, pouted, and resorted to nibbling on her toast. Ib smiled at her mother, showing her gratitude. She went to eat her breakfast, but to her dismay there was only one piece of toast. _What about Garry? _"Mom?" Ib's voice rose to an unusual (at least for her) volume, "You forgot to make Garry a piece of toast!" Ib could feel Mary's expression sour. Their mother reentered the room and put her left hand on her forehead. "How could have I forgotten, it's been twice this week." She disappeared and reappeared in a matter of seconds. "Here Garry," she said to the air in front of her, "I was going to eat this later, but I understand that you'd want to eat with Mary and Ib." She paused for a moment as if she was listening to someone speaking to her. "Oh no, don't worry about me, I can wait for another piece of bread to toast, it's not like I'll wither away." Her smile was bright and cheery despite her talking to an empty chair. She put the plate on the table and poured the "three" of them juice.

"Ma, you do realize that Garry can't eat; Garry's not real" snapped Mary. Her mother shushed her. "Mary," she growled, "don't say that!" She directed her attention to Ib: "Of course Garry's real honey, don't listen to your sister." Mary turned to Ib. "Ib, stop believing in you make-believe boyfriend." Ib gasped. It was hurtful, but she understood. Mary never believed her. She thought that "imaginary friends" were child's play, and that was that. Ib knew her situation was different.

Having been fed up, Ib's mother pulled Mary aside. Ib could hear harshness in her as she eavesdropped on their conversations about Mary's old imaginary friend, Redeyes. Mary had hissed something about that being "when she was a baby" before she stomped back into the dining room. She turned to Ib and said: "I'm sorry sis, I'm really not that hungry anymore. I really hope you didn't want to eat breakfast with me." She ran the rest of the way upstairs. All there was left in the dining room was Ib and two-and-a-half slices of toast.

….

**A/n: Okay so, I wanted to start writing this way earlier than I did, but apparently, I had to write a gazillion essays this week. Yea this is my first fanfic and all, and I plan to update frequently (or at least as frequently as my schoolwork allows). Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated because in the words of Hanna Montana: "Nobody's perfect". Did I get everything that everyone else usually puts in their a/n? Yea I think so. Hope you liked 3;DD**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: I'm a giggling mess; I can't believe so many of you like this**

…

Mary fiddled with glitter and tinkered with clay. She was upset and embarrassed and needed something to distract herself. Tens of little clay graves laid out in front of her, all engraved with an epitaph of "R.I.P." She knew that it was unlady-like of her to call out her sister's flub so bluntly, but she couldn't help it. Ib needed to know, one day or another, that Garry wasn't real. Sure, she did have an imaginary friend, Redeyes, whom she may or may not have made a doll of previously, hiding under her bed, but she was mature enough that that was just a game.

Glitter filled the atmosphere, causing Mary to sneeze violently.

Part of her wished that Ib was just lying; hoping that she was just pretending to have a babyish thing like an imaginary friend to have her parent princess her as their "baby girl", but Mary knew that wasn't true. She handled the glue as her mind went to the worst case scenario: she remembered once sneaking a peak into her father's phycology magazines. There, she was attracted to the article with the biggest, brightest pictures; an article that she read, despite the tough words, very thoroughly. It was about people being sick with something called _schizophrenia_; hearing voices and seeing things that weren't there. It was almost as if they had an imaginary friend. . . .

No, Mary _refused_ to believe this. She crushed and reformed all of her graves out of a fit of rage. She knew that this probably wasn't the case, but the questions that she had couldn't help but swirl in her head. What if Ib really was sick? What if she was the only one who would find out? Would Ib never get better? Would it be her, Ib, and Garry for the rest of her life? She cringed at the idea. Yet she didn't know what to do if Ib did have this, Mary tried the world on her tongue, _schizophrenia_. It was a bitter thought. Mary didn't know if she could stand seeing her sister sick like that.

But back to reality, Mary had decided that rather than millions of tiny grave for the millions of tiny victims, she would make one big memorial statue of a bowl, the plastic object that brought her tiny friends to death. She toyed with the clay: repetitively rolling it, then flattening it, then rolling it up again. Before long, Mary realized that she would need more clay. She went downstairs to get it.

She leaped down the stairs skipping every other step. The staircase led Mary to the living room. She rolled her eyes at the bland grey room with the, her mother's choice, red accents. Mary always hated the room and its stuffy velvet couches, and its stiff, life-draining portraits of stuffy old blue bloods in powdered wigs in stuffed up shirts. Mary agreed that both her and her parents liked art, but didn't agree on the style of art they liked. Mary felt that the room was off-putting; it irked her. It felt as if she was in some kind of haunted art gallery.

She almost crossed the room without noticing the faint whispers emanating from the couch. She turned to see that it was none other than her baby sister mumbling to herself. Mary had not seen her at first because Ib was facing the window. Despite it being midday, she was in a pair of dirt brown, greyish pajamas, which blended into the couch flawlessly. Ib was chirping on about going to a café with her dear friend. "We can go and have macaroons "she said, "Mary would want to come, but I could find a way to prevent her from if you don't want her to." Luckily, Mary could barely understand the jabbering of her younger sister

"Ib?" Mary tried getting Ib's attention, but her sister continued. "Ha ha, then later we can go to the pet shop and see the rabbits. . . . What do you mean you don't like rabbits? . . . . Garry, you're such a leporiphobe." Mary felt a pain growing in her stomach. tried again to release Ib from her sickness. "Huh, what do you mean? Of course I know what leporiphobia is; that's you. Why would I use a word that I didn't know the meaning to? Do you take me as a moron Garry?" Mary gasped. It was no use; she couldn't get her sister attention, but that didn't stop her from trying one more time. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, coating her dry throat in saliva. She wiped her eyes so that no one could see them watering. She decided that she was the only one to fix Ib's problem. _She_ would be the one to get rid of Garry. Ib would be her sister again and no _stranger_ would get in her way. Mary was poised and ready for interaction. She repressed a whimper and, with no more hesitations: "Ib! Why won't you answer me?!"

The young brunette turned her head. Mary could see how her eyes glimmered like hot coals. Ib pushed her hair back and said: 'Don't you see, we're trying to _ignore _you?"

That was it. Any emotion that Mary tried to repress came out then. Her whimper came back, this time it was noticeable and unrepressed and evolved into strong, fierce sobbing. Her face was red and drowned with tears, which touched her tongue and fed her a salty taste. She was broken down, crying nonstop, while her sickly, cold-hearted sister watched without a word. It took a few minutes for Mary to calm down. She wiped the tears off her face and felt the sensation of heat. She stood up and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress. She one last glimpse of Ib, with her glassy, red eyes, before she ran upstairs.

Their room was exactly as it had been before Mary left. Glitter was thrown around the room and clay was ground into the carpet, but Mary didn't care. She knew that her parents would be mad to see her room like this, but she didn't care about that either. She laid amongst the mess and started crying again. She couldn't take this. She hated how immature her sister was. She hated how easily her sister would rather spend time with an imaginary friend that with her own sister. She hated how Ib had watched her break down and had done nothing but stare. She was so angry right now, but the only way she could express it was in tears. She wanted, no_ needed_ Ib to get better, or she might go insane herself.

She would cry for the rest of the evening with a set of red button eyes watching her from under the bed the whole time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Haha, you know when I say I'd update as frequently as possible? Well, I lied. Would this extra-long chapter serve as a decent recompense?**

….

It was the first time this week that their father was off from work. He had suggested going to the art gallery to see the new Guertena exhibit they were hosting. Being the young, polite girls they were raised to be, Ib and Mary acknowledged that their father had spent this extremely stressful week at work just to support his family. They both decided it was best to humor their father, at least just for that day. They were going to see the paintings.

The walk to town was pretty uneventful. The sun's rays beat down on the family, but luckily the breeze was cool and dainty, and kept the two girls from bickering. Despite the miscellaneous group of people in the neighborhood, all the houses looked the same. On the outside, the houses were painted a shade of beige. The shingles were various colors of blue or red or green. On many houses, they were faded to a pale grey with only a faint tint to remind you what the former color was. The lawns were vividly painted with bright red roses and the occasional porch with daisies. Mary thought: _It's best not to push on daisies; bad things happen when you do_. Mary remembered the time when her grandmother passed away. When she asked what happened, she parents said that she had pushed on daisies. Mary was overwhelmed by curiosity, but she concluded that if something that bad could happen when you pushed on daisies, it was not worth the risk.

The family knew they were close to town when they were greeted by the familiar smell of apple pie. Both Ib and Mary knew there was a bakery nearby, fore they were in town often. Their parents weren't very fond of baking; the preparation and cleaning were tedious and measurements had to be precise. Not to mention the sugar. If the girls had gotten ahold of a cake or cookies, they'd be bouncing off the walls. Luckily for them, their father, being the man he is, would buy them cupcakes and sneak it to them before dinner. This would frustrate their mom, but she couldn't stay mad at the man she had married.

They hurried to match the hustle and bustle of the town. True, the town's traffic wasn't anything compared to that of a city's, but it was the only place near here like this, and people loved it. Mary especially liked the atmosphere of town. She found beauty in the brick buildings painted white and enjoyed the sound of cars whizzing by her. She thought about what life would be like if she was raised in town. Would they live in one of those tiny apartments over the storefronts? Would she and Ib still go to school over here? Or someplace else? Would her parents own a storefront and have their own business? What about her? Would she grow up to own _her _own business, a boutique, among the beautiful white buildings? The thought of this made her dizzy with glee; she needed something to distract her from these thoughts. So she decided to switch extremes.

She thought about living a life without the town. _To live a life without the buildings, and the shops, and the cupcakes, and the galleries, and the cars whizzing by would be very sad_ decided Mary. She didn't know if a life like that was acceptable for anyone, let alone herself.

Before see could realize, Mary had passed Murray Street. Every day, she and Ib would be hand-in-hand, turning the corner to go to school. But they weren't like that now. Instead the two girls were separated by their intruding parents. Mary wasn't ready to forgive Ib for what happened the night before, but she knew it was not her fault. She knew that it was not her sister Ib who was maliciously ignoring her, but another Ib inflicted with an ailment. This ailment in mention was cast upon her by none other than a wicked imaginary man named Garry.

Mary snuck a glance towards Ib. Her sister was trapped in thought like she always was. Her left hand connected her to her mother, and to Mary's surprise, her right hand was suffocating in her skirt pocket. Mary decided that anything was better than Ib holding _his _hand. She smiled. For the first time in a while, Ib looked like a normal sister.

The gallery was different than the other buildings. Instead of brick, the gallery was faced with milk white marble slabs. When Mary disobeys her mother and touches the building, she finds that it is smooth and cool to the touch. The gallery is the only building in town with a large pile of steps leading to the entrance. It has tiny windows that let sunlight into the monstrous gallery. If you peeked inside you'd see that the gallery was packed.

Mary had put her attention to an advertisement framed under one of the windows. It depicts two very different pieces of art. The first, which is in a gilded frame, is of a young woman in a dashing red dress. The background is pitch black, directing the viewer's attention to the woman. Her face is lean and triangular, almost like what Mary would imagine Ib to look like when she is older. On further investigation, her dress is tattered and worn. The woman stares to the left of the painting, lost in deep thought. Mary looks up towards her mother, who stares at the painting with awe. Mary thinks she just found her mother's favorite piece in the exhibit.

I other is a photograph of a group of headless mannequins, each wearing a different colored dress-red, blue, and yellow- for each primary color. Big bubble letters sprawl across the advertisement_: Welcome to the World of Guertena!_ Her father puts his hand on Mary's shoulder and says: "Guertena explored many different styles of art. I think everyone will find at least one piece that they like." Father was beaming. All four of them go inside.

Inside, it is not as crowded as they thought it would be. Swarms of people desert the entrance to look for the paintings. Over the main desk hangs another poster with the same bubble letters, but a picture of an anglerfish instead. She watched as her parents talked to the white haired man behind the counter. In exchange for the admission fee he gives them four pamphlets and wishes them a nice day.

Unlike the rest of the family, Mary didn't bother to read her pamphlet. Instead she explores the main floor. Though the assortment of pieces, Mary wasn't very interested. She felt as if all the paintings, from the yawning cat to a coughing man, had seemed familiar to her. Mary wondered if her parents had a picture book of Weiss Guertena's works at home. She shook the thought out of her head once her family got to the statue of the rose.

Its name was _Embodiment of Spirit_, and it was colossal. The statue and its drooping red petals easily towered Mary, Ib, and the rest of her family. Even though the piece was made plaster, it looked as if it was a real flower, as if the petals would someday fall off. All of Guertena's works had that realist quality, but this one especially. The family, as well as tens of other people, stared in amazement at the art filling the corner.

Finally Mother piped up: "Wow, this is great. . . It represents a person's heart I suppose." She turns to her daughters: "I wonder if you girls have such beautiful roses in your hearts." The two girls beamed in response. Their father chuckled. "Ma, I want to look upstairs now. Let's go!" Mary tugged at her sister's hand repeatedly, but she didn't budge. Ib's gaze was fixed on the statue and it seemed Mary was the only to notice how sad it was. She watched as her sister solemnly traced the letters on the nameplate. For a second, the air was tense, but Father eased the atmosphere. "I think Ib wants to stay here a while longer. Why don't you go on ahead, we'll catch up with you later." And with those encouraging words and a warning from her mother not to talk to strangers, Mary went upstairs...

. . . But she didn't get far. You see, Mary had tried to get away, to look at the other pieces, but something was itching to get her attention. At first, Mary had tried her best to ignore it for there was a piece on the top floor she was dying to see. She carried on; the something still calling her name. Her footsteps echoed though the silence of the gallery. They echoed past the _Lady in Red_, and past the blue blob she had first been interested in, and past a group of peeking eyes. She passed a giant mural-like painting before she realized she was exactly where she started from.

Mary decided that she might as well look for what was bugging her.

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One…_

Mary's dress flew as she turned to see what bothered her. What she saw, which was unexpected, was a man with periwinkle hair sleeping in an old, tattered, navy colored coat. This was a portrait of course, and Mary could tell due to their height difference. What Mary didn't know, or at least remember, was whether or not the painting was there before. Mary was certain that something like this would catch her eye, but since she never actually looked in the painting's direction before, so she dismissed the thought.

Quickly, without anyone looking, she followed the etching on the nameplate. Her finger traced the words_ Forgotten Portrait_. Mary had suddenly sensed an unexplainable sadness loiter the air. With this newfound feeling, Mary looked toward the portrait again. She feared that the man may not have been sleeping after all.

It didn't take long for a look of utter terror to develop onto Mary's face. Try as she might to look away, she could not pull her gaze away from the corpse in front of her. It was if the realization hit her like a truck, and she stood as helpless as a deer, letting it strike her. She remembered the day her grandmother died, how she and Ib had held her hands until they had gotten cold. Then her parents, stifling their tears, had shut her open eyes. Mary peeked at the painting. The man's eyes were closed. Mary swallowed the bile rising up her throat. She was more terrified now than ever. _Someone must have been there to close his eyes _she deducted. _And they must have cared for him very much; I wouldn't have bothered with a stranger's corpse._ Her overthinking stressed her out and caused her to slump in a temporary state of depression.

Mary tried her best to hide her bitterness from her sister. She had run up the stairs chirping "Mary!" acting to most cheerful and social she had been all day. Mary tried to turn her head from the painting, but to no avail. She hoped Ib wouldn't understand; she didn't need to see her baby sister upset, not after they had just started talking again! "Mary?" Ib traced her gaze from Mary to the painting. This was when Mary prayed to any god who would listen. Finally, Mary was able to release her gaze from the portrait to witness her sister's reaction. At first it seemed as if Ib was unfazed, but her expression grew somber as she turned to face Mary. Her head grew heavier as she stared at the floor. She started to sob.

"Ib?" Mary's eccentrically jumpy voice sobered up. Ib's sobbing grew more violent as she wailed:

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

Ib collapsed to the floor and tears plummeted from her eyes. It had been as if the two were characters in a Spanish soap opera. They were upset about absolutely nothing at all. Then Mary took a good look at her sister, crouched on the floor, wailing, her face red from tears. Mary realized that even though it was unnecessary and stupid to her, it wasn't for Ib. To Ib, _this was Garry_. This was the man that Ib spent every second with for the past year, the man that Ib preferred over her own sister. Mary's eyes started to water. Her sister was mourning, so she would mourn with her. She clutched her sister in her arms and sobbed loudly. Mary took the occasional deep breath and huffed: "It'll be okay." Ib responded by moving her head; Mary wasn't sure whether this was a shake or a nod.

It was then Mary noticed how morbidly perfect this was. Sure, there were people staring, but it was nice to have her sister to herself again. It had been the longest time since Ib had come to her for anything and not Garry instead. Mary wrapped her arms around Ib tighter, as if she was protecting her from something. It was good to feel this close to her sister again. Mary noticed how urgent it was to rescue Ib from Garry now. Ib need to depend on her sister, not an imaginary dead man. Their sobs echoed through the gallery. Mary, no longer shaken by the image of Garry, once again took up the mission to save her sister. She whispered: "I'm here to protect you."

Mary closed her eyes and hid her face in Ib's sleeve. They weren't opened until she heard her parents. "Girls! What's wrong!" shouted their mother. Following her was their father and the white-haired man who had given them admittance into the gallery. They were concerned, and the man a little annoyed, and crowded the girls. "What's wrong?" they would ask, but to no response. It took Mary a few minutes to acknowledge her inquirers and stand up. She tugged lightly on Ib's wet sleeve to get her attention. "We need to leave" Mary said firmly. The admittance man nodded and the family of four let themselves out.

Mary never wanted to come here again, not after what had happened to Ib. Maybe one day her feeling would soften, but that would be because she would know the Guertena exhibit had run its course and never come back. Her family walked home as silent as they had come. They moved away from the town, away from the gallery, and away from that man who'd pushed on daisies.

…...

**A/n: Okay sorry again for the wait, though it's probably not as long as some of the other fanfics out there (trust me we've **_**all **_** had that experience) It's like 11 o'clock at night on a school night so I'm not gonna proofread this thing, you know, like I failed to do with last chapter. Hrnnn, god the spelling mistakes last chapter pissed me off. If it's really bad in this one, I'll revise m'kay? So like, good night and all because once this baby's put online, I'm passing out. **


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